Shadow's Pleasure: The Shadow Warder Series, Book Two (A Paranormal/Urban Fantasy Romance Series) (5 page)

Once he’d lost his mother and sisters, Kiernan had lived alone on the streets, stealing when he had to, working when he could. At thirteen, a tough, skinny survivor, he’d picked the wrong pocket. The Warder who caught him recognized what he was immediately. Days later, Kiernan had been off the streets and tucked away at the North American Academy.

He’d thought the Warders were crazy. What did Kiernan care about demons and destiny? But he was too smart to turn down a warm bed and regular meals. Now, a hundred and forty-two years later, he still hadn’t lost the ghost of the hungry, lonely child he’d been. Money was security. The wealth he’d squirreled away ensured his safety. Never again would he go without.

Though he thought Kiernan was nuts, Conner had humored him and shifted half his funds away from the Warder banks. A good thing he had, since both their accounts had been frozen two days ago. Kiernan might be able to get his opened back up, depending on how the next few days went. Since Conner was staying out of sight, he could kiss a chunk of his hard-earned money goodbye.

Kiernan was glad he’d hit one of his secret stashes before they’d left Charlotte. Madoc’s work didn’t come cheap, but Kiernan had plenty of cash to pay for whatever they needed.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure approaching Sorcha’s door. In the shade of the tree, Kiernan’s dark-clothed form blended into the trunk. He doubted the male entering Sorcha’s cottage had spotted him. Steven, the Shadow from the meeting, opened the door easily. Had it been unlocked? Or did the Shadow have enough control over his telekinesis to open the lock without a key?

Kiernan waited a beat for the door to shut behind Steven. With an eye on the windows of the cottage, he approached the closed door. It seemed to be his day for eavesdropping. Kiernan preferred to gather intel in a more direct manner, but he didn’t want to barge into Sorcha’s home. For one thing, despite the scene at the meeting earlier, he still didn’t understand her relationship with Steven. She might want the older Shadow there.

Hearing nothing inside, he turned the knob of the door. It opened easily, the door swinging inward on well-oiled hinges. The outside of the cottage might not have looked like Sorcha, but the interior gave a fascinating glimpse into the Shadow who was to be his partner.

The front door opened into a large central room, a compact kitchen space directly to his left. In front of the door, past the area set aside for hanging coats and taking off shoes, he saw a comfortable living room filled with overstuffed couches centered around a small fireplace. The fireplace surround was a brilliant rainbow of color. Fashioned of glass tiles arranged in a randomly artful design, it brought to mind light seen through a prism. As his eye scanned the open space, Kiernan saw more glasswork. A frame hanging in a window, the panels in vivid colors separated by leaded lines. A vase of creamy white lilies, the long, delicate stems a deep, translucent green. On the kitchen counter, a tiny glass hummingbird sat, tilted to the side next to a small box, a tuft of straw sticking out of the top. Sorcha had been packing it.

Kiernan spotted another bouquet of glass flowers spread across the dining table beside the kitchen. These were irises, and they appeared to be unfinished. With a flash, he realized the glass art was Sorcha’s work. The fireplace tiles, the flowers, the hummingbird. She was an artist. One with great talent, if the examples around her home were any indication. Interesting. He’d been thinking of her as a Shadow, a tracker. Worrying about her empathy and her shield. Trying not to imagine the distracting curves under her loose tunic. Somehow, knowing she’d created all of this vibrant, gleaming glass made her more real. He wasn’t sure if seeing her differently would make their job harder or easier.

When he’d eased the door open, the main room had been empty. He’d lingered in the doorway, taking in Sorcha’s living space. Now she stalked back into the room, Steven on her heels. Neither of them saw him in the half-open door.

“Don’t turn your back on me,” Steven said in a low, angry voice. Before Sorcha could respond, Steven reached for her hand. He pulled her around to face him, taking a step so his tall form loomed directly over hers. Long fingers gripped her chin, tilting her face up.

Kiernan’s stomach twisted at the naked lust he saw in Steven’s eyes. The hand on Sorcha’s jaw, the hold on her wrist, spoke of possession. Ownership.

Unexpected disappointment speared through him. He hadn’t gotten a lover-like vibe off Steven when the Shadow had pushed his way into the meeting earlier. Sorcha definitely hadn’t seemed to respond to him with either attraction or affection, but here she was, tucked into his tall, spindly frame, letting Steven put his hands all over her.

Kiernan started to withdraw, leaving them to their privacy, when he noticed that Sorcha’s milky pale skin had drained to a chalky white. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he guessed the luminous green had dulled. This wasn’t a lover’s embrace. She was silent and still, but Kiernan would have bet every penny he had that Steven was hurting her.

He’d let her handle the situation with her parents on her own, but she’d been fighting back. Taking a full step into the cottage, Kiernan slammed the door shut behind him. From Sorcha, all he got was a slight flinch.

Steven turned his head slowly on that long, skinny neck and met Kiernan’s eyes. “Get out,” Steven hissed. “Sorcha is staying with me.”

Chapter Three

Her body was frozen while her mind screamed; the disconnect terrified Sorcha. She felt Steven inside her, boring tiny holes through her shield, invading her mind, keeping her helpless. The damp heat of a tear trickled down one cheek. Again, she tried to force her muscles to action, to drag herself away from Steven. As always, she remained exactly where he wanted her. Hatred a bitter acid in her soul, Sorcha struggled for freedom in the deepest part of herself. Steven’s strongest empathic skill, his best-protected secret, was his ability to infiltrate mental barriers. Once inside, as long as he was in close proximity to his target, there was no way to get him out. Whenever he wanted, Steven had full access to her mind. She could block him from reading her direct thoughts, but she couldn’t keep his consciousness out of her own.

For ten years, he’d been content to use his terrifying ability to watch over Sorcha, systematically destroying all but the thinnest layer of her shield, tearing away new growth as soon as it began. It seemed he was tired of being patient. She’d caught him looking at her with desire before, but never so directly, and never with such blatant, possessive lust. His pride had kept him from taking her by force so far. It hadn’t occurred to him that she wouldn’t eventually give in. Sorcha had the feeling she’d just run out of time.

The bony fingers on her jaw were five points of ice, each sending shards of agonizingly cold energy into her skin, through bone, up into the soft flesh of her brain. Most Shadows saw the physical brain as separate from the ability to control energy. Not Steven. His gift enabled him to feel the connection between flesh and spirit, to infiltrate to the deepest levels. Sorcha felt him inside her, a virulent worm, boring tunnels in her inner self, plucking at the strands of her shield one by one until the delicate construct was on the brink of collapse. He wasn’t simply trying to get her back under his control.

That wasn’t enough for him now. This time, Steven wanted to drag her back to the first moments after the power surge a decade before. If he continued his methodical destruction, she’d fall into unconsciousness in minutes. Vulnerable to anything he wanted to do. Helpless. And very much unable to leave the Sanctuary.

In the distance, she heard a thud. Steven’s eyes left hers and he spoke. Sorcha wished she could get her ears to work well enough to hear what he said. She was buried under a sheet of ice, no more than a living statue as long as Steven held her mind in his cold grip. Then, in a rush, he was torn away.

Sorcha felt her legs go limp. Felt herself fall to the polished wood floor. Her skull bounced once and then she lay still, her brain registering rumbling thuds echoing off to the side. Closing her eyes, she drew every particle of her consciousness together, reweaving her innate Shadow energy into a shield that could protect her mind. Somehow, Steven was distracted. She might only have moments to save herself. She wouldn’t waste them.

Faster than she would have thought possible, Sorcha regained control of her body. Vision clearing, ears once more alert, she realized Steven had let her go because he was in the middle of a fight. It took a second for her brain to process the concept of austere, authoritarian Steven doing something as earthy as fighting. Rising slowly to her feet, she watched for a moment in astonishment as Kiernan, the Warder, took a swing at Steven’s left eye. From the blood trickling down Steven’s cheek, it looked like Kiernan had already gotten in a few good hits.

The couch beside her was knocked askew, pillows out of place. The coffee table lay on its side. Tracking a path from the open front door to where the two men rolled on the ground, Sorcha realized Kiernan had leapt over the couch to tear Steven away from her. Something hot grew in her chest, swelling with amazement. Kiernan had saved her.

This wasn’t the first time Steven had been interrupted when he’d been hurting her, but it was the first time anyone had tried to stop him. His brand of abuse was so subtle, so silent, only Sorcha knew what he was doing. To an outsider, it looked like they were involved in some kind of mental training or communication. She knew Steven loved that his talent and reputation allowed him to torture her in plain sight with no concern over anyone stopping him. But somehow, Kiernan had known she needed help.

Now it was her turn to help Kiernan. He outweighed Steven, and he certainly had the training to win a physical fight. Steven wouldn’t keep the fight on a physical level, though, and Kiernan had no idea the weapons her mentor had in his arsenal. As if he’d read her mind, Steven dodged a blow from Kiernan’s bloody fist and raised one hand toward Kiernan’s face.

Sorcha didn’t think. No way was Steven going to hurt her Warder. He definitely wasn’t going to damage Kiernan’s gorgeous face. For the first time in years, Sorcha didn’t sense Steven’s intrusion in her mind. Maybe he couldn’t focus on her through the pain of Kiernan’s assault. The reason didn’t matter.

The talent Steven locked down when he was near her was suddenly free. Sorcha reached inside herself and drew out the only real benefit she’d gained from her power surge. Her only offensive ability. Drawing heat from the warm spring air filling her cottage, she built a ball of fire in her palm. When it was the size of a shooter marble, she threw it out of her hand and sent it winging toward Steven’s raised palm.

The bullet of molten heat struck him with speed and accuracy, enhanced by the basic telekinesis all Shadows had. Sorcha didn’t have any great power with Tk, but it was enough to ensure that when she threw a deadly missile of heat, she didn’t miss. Steven screamed in pain and clutched his burned hand to his chest, Kiernan forgotten. Kiernan spared a quick glance for Sorcha. She gestured for him to move back.

“Get off him. Now,” she said. He stared at her for a second, unmoving. “Trust me. Just get off him so I have a clear shot.”

At that, Kiernan sprang off Steven’s prone body, moving so quickly Sorcha would have missed it if she’d blinked. Steven was rebounding from the injury to his hand faster than she’d expected. He rolled to his feet, prepared to advance on Sorcha and Kiernan. Out of the corner of her eye, Sorcha saw Kiernan raise a hand to his temple, one eye squinting in pain. Steven was already after him, striking at his mind. With a howl of rage, Sorcha threw both hands out in front of her, throwing a blaze of heat directly into Steven’s chest.

The older Shadow was knocked off his feet and propelled backward until he hit the opposite couch. His body collapsed into the soft cushions, head lolling to the side. Eyes closed, he might have been asleep except for the neatly burned circle in his sweater and the charred flesh beneath. Panting for breath, Sorcha stared at him until she felt Kiernan’s strong hand close over her elbow.